


Letters from home

by choppedmint (forevermint)



Series: The Road Not Taken [21]
Category: The Morganville Vampires - Rachel Caine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forevermint/pseuds/choppedmint
Summary: ORIGIN "Heartbroken: Letters from home": There are some stories which just hurt. I honestly didn’t expect this to be the worst - for me anyway - out of the two fights which finally split Myrnin and Arthur up. But it was, in a way, a long time foreshadowing. Arthur was the one to get his father’s assets, and with that, responsibility came crashing back. Some things might be a little off for the time I was trying to get, but I say I did my best. All in all, this was a hard story to write. Next time, I need all happy prompts.
Relationships: Myrnin (Morganville Vampires)/Arthur Dee
Series: The Road Not Taken [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558276





	Letters from home

Myrnin was the one who go ahold of the letter first. It was probably the beginning of the end. In hindsight it was something a bit harder to pinpoint.  
Arthur was a doctor, that was something that was fairly undeniable by this area’s denizens of London. But though that fact was true, it wasn’t the complete truth. Belief did not make a thing real. Arthur was very good at dancing these days. How many years had it been since he’d played a royal, his father’s son? After that, wasn’t it so easy to study medicine. It had been. But then came college and that hadn’t gone as well. He’d left, never really looked back. But officially, in the eyes of anyone that mattered, he wasn’t a doctor. He was just an alchemist, which didn’t need the fiddly paperwork bit. He was a reject. A fake.  
And it was so easy to tear down a lie with a single truth.  
“What’s this?” asked Myrnin, flipping the piece of paper this way and that. “Must be pretty important. This handwriting is awful.”  
Arthur was pouring over a book, flipping though it slowly so he could pick out the more difficult words. “Who’s it from?” he asked without looking up.  
“Well, that’s a bit tough to figure out,” admitted Myrnin. He paused, possibly reading a couple lines. “Arthur,” he said, voice going a bit stiff.  
Arthur didn’t look up. Myrnin often changed the tone of his voice. It usually didn’t mean too much. Well … it did, but there often wasn’t anything he could do about it. If Myrnin needed to, he removed himself from the situation. Maybe he wasn’t always wise about when to do that, but Arthur at least knew he didn’t always mean what he said – good or bad.  
“What?” he asked absentmindedly.  
“Arthur …” And then the letter was just shoved under his nose. Arthur blinked at the cramped handwriting for a second, having to pause a moment to read in English again, instead of the language the book had been in. His mouth went dry and he pulled the book closer, letter still balanced on top of the pages. “This …” he said. He felt a weight on his shoulder, unrequested for but not rejected. Myrnin. A solid hand on his shoulder, presumably for comfort.  
 _We regret to inform you of the passing of John Dee…_ Though maybe not phrased in so many words. Arthur glazed over them, hardly letting the message register. It wasn’t … no.  
He slammed the book closed, pressing the letter between it, folding it into a sharp half. He pushed Myrnin’s hand off his shoulder, not thinking about it. Myrnin backed off, flinching. He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked, but Arthur didn’t have time to consider his sudden movement. Instead, he pressed his fingers to the side of his head, rocking in his chair like this would somehow make the world disappear. He hadn’t felt his heart beat so fast since the old days, back when his family was still in favor with the Queen. But that was all over now. It _had_ been. He’d been living his own life. His father had been off, doing other things, making the sort of living he wanted to make. But he was dead now and Arthur didn’t know whether he was hurt by that or just frightened.  
Myrnin had, by some degree, recovered. He hesitantly circled Arthur’s position before coming to stand in front of him. Arthur knew he was going to try and reassure him any second now. Any second …  
He held up one hand as soon as Myrnin tried to open his mouth. “No!” he snapped. “Nothing from you!”  
Myrnin backed off again, eyes wide. He opened his mouth again, as if that might somehow get a different reaction, but Arthur was almost grateful when he closed it again. He didn’t want reassurance and pity. Worse, he didn’t think he deserved it. The letter said his father was dead. What kind of person was he that he was just thinking about how that affected him?  
It was like there was a giant hole under his chair. Threatening to plunge him down into it. Was he sad? He thought he must be. Didn’t he? He hadn’t been that close to his father.  
His breath was coming sharply into his throat. It took him a while to look up, seeing Myrnin’s expression. He had his back pressed against the wall, palms of his hands against the wall. His eyes were hardly opened, but his pupils were so small in what Arthur could see of them that he was fairly sure he had to be imagining their size.  
“What’s your problem?” he snapped again, already regretting the words.  
Myrnin’s hands moved to his ears, pressing against them. His breathing was slow, pulling at his chest. He didn’t answer. Arthur’s heart rattled around in his chest some more.  
“Please stop,” Myrnin said. “I can’t help it. Please, please, please …” The word repeated, over and over. It upset Arthur out of his own thoughts, that was for sure. He licked his lips. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, trying to calm down.  
Somehow, Myrnin always seemed to react to heightened emotions like this. Even if Arthur thought he looked perfectly calm, Myrnin always seemed to tell. This wasn’t the first time he’d had this reaction. If Arthur calmed down, then he usually did as well. Then he’d go off for a while, maybe a few hours, but he always came back. Arthur tried to breath. Myrnin kept his eyes closed and his hands over his ears. But even though Arthur knew he didn’t seem to be able to help it, that didn’t stop him from letting the anger over the letter spark into this issue. Why did Myrnin always act like that? Sometimes he would mutter to himself about heartbeats and not wanting to hurt people, like if he repeated a word or phrase over again it would somehow stop whatever was going on within his head. Something Arthur couldn’t understand, no matter how hard he tried.  
He pressed his hands into the wood of the table, shoulders trembling a little. Everything was falling apart. Or it would, very slowly and soon. This letter … it wasn’t just informing him of the death of his father. It said he, despite the fact there were so many better men, would get the main component of what his father owned. Which meant no mucking about with medicine, my lad. Your life was off to far bigger and better things! He thought he was going to be sick, if that was any sort of irony. Did Myrnin _get it_? Did he understand? Arthur had to leave London. And there was no way the other man would have any excuse to follow. Anyway, he’d stated himself that there were a couple family friends who’d love him to visit for a ‘bit longer than I’d really like’. For some reason, London was safe. Well, it wasn’t welcome for Arthur anymore. Dear ol’ dad had seen to that. Life gone in one little piece of paper.  
His own arms wrapped around him and he reminded himself to breath. He opened his eyes and Myrnin was ridiculously close. Another thing he sometimes did, which succeeded in freaking Arthur out once again. He nearly fell of the chair, but he grabbed the table at the last second. Another thing that didn’t do his heart much good.  
“Myrnin!” he snapped. The other man still had his eyes closed, or Arthur assumed that at least. His hands were pressed against his face.  
The other man flinched, but at least this time he didn’t jerk back completely. “I …” he started. One hand fluttered away from his eyes and then returned before Arthur could see them. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. It’ll be okay though …?”  
Yes, Arthur heard the question mark. He straightened, a little hesitantly. It brought him a bit closer to Myrnin’s lack of personal space, but it was that or topple off the chair. “I don’t see how,” he said, voice weak. “I mean … a ‘decent’ job now. Nothing to be done about it. I can’t _refuse_. Then I really would get pulled in front of the Board good and proper. You saw what happened the last time. I doubt they wanted a repeat offence.”  
This … had at least distracted him a bit. He wasn’t calmer in the senses of the head, but his heartrate had come down and his breath was more regular. This seemed to be enough to calmed Myrnin a bit as well. He hesitantly lowered his hands, though he wrapped his arms around his chest and took several steps away from Arthur, as if he only now realized how close he was.  
His eyes looked a bit red, but Arthur didn’t take much notice. Maybe he’d been crying. He was also sure it wouldn’t be the first time. “I can’t do it, Myrnin. I can’t just leave all this. I’ve worked too hard for that.”  
“T-then don’t,” Myrnin said, as if it was that easy. Arthur pulled at his hair, sleeve slipping down his arm. The knots in his hair caught at his fingers. He didn’t notice the tug. “It wouldn’t work, Myrnin. I mean, this doesn’t even let me stay in London. I’m,” he waved a hand in the direction of the river or the general, wider world. “Out there. I’m out there, apparently. You can’t even go.”  
He looked sideways, half hoping Myrnin would contradict him. But the other man just looked awkward. “So … why not just move shop?” he hesitantly asked. “Then you could keep it as a side job?”  
A cynical laugh bubbled in Arthur’s throat. He wanted to hit something. It was all he could do to not take the frustration out on Myrnin. He’d be sorry for all the anger later, but right now he wasn’t thinking about that. “Yeah. Maybe. Great. I think that’s going to work out great.”  
Myrnin looked like the sarcasm had stung him. “It was just an idea.”  
“Yeah, great idea. Accept for one problem.” Arthur stood up so fast that the chair tipped over. Myrnin stumbled back again, eyes wide. But Arthur ignored him. He walked the few steps to the window and pointed to the back of the sign in the window of his shop, positioned in the window. “See, the slight problem I have is this little bit of fraudulent paper. I already had people breathing down my neck three months ago. They just want another excuse to stop me practicing. This is perfect. Arthur Dee just got thrown out of his own store because my dad died. And I …” He rubbed a hand over his face, so frustrated with himself that he could scream. “And I can’t seem to focus that he’s actually gone.”  
Myrnin’s knees bent until he was sitting on the ground, legs tucked close to him. “That’s … that’s okay. It’s not easy.”  
“No,” said Arthur, almost growling. “It’s not.” He took the piece of paper that was positioned in the window. There was a list of medicine on it, at the top was his name. He couldn’t even remember who had made it for him anymore.  
The paper was stiff, good quality. A bit sun-bleached, but he’d gone over it with ink once or twice to refresh the color.  
It ripped within his hands without any problem, the two halves falling to the floor.  
“Not easy at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGIN "Heartbroken: Letters from home": There are some stories which just hurt. I honestly didn’t expect this to be the worst - for me anyway - out of the two fights which finally split Myrnin and Arthur up. But it was, in a way, a long time foreshadowing. Arthur was the one to get his father’s assets, and with that, responsibility came crashing back. Some things might be a little off for the time I was trying to get, but I say I did my best. All in all, this was a hard story to write. Next time, I need all happy prompts.


End file.
